Unless you're one of those abyss-gazing doomsday preppers from the US, you've probably heard the news that all those Radio One and Kerrang! bands from the early to mid noughties are falling over each other in their frenzied operation to molest as many kids as they can before their "best of" albums signal the end of both career and popularity.
Maybe those doomsday preppers are right to hide themselves from the rest of mankind, maybe their apple pie flavoured paranoia was warranted. Rather than hellfire and brimstone, we're seeing a different kind of apocalypse, one heralded by side fringes, fingerless gloves and naked children running through the streets in frightened droves.
Who is to blame? Certainly not funk, I tell you that. Funk was smoking a crack pipe on an egg chair while this shit was going down. You leave funk alone. No, ladies and gentleman, we're currently experiencing the decline of sexual integrity and you can bet your bottom dollar that it's because we allowed pop rock to happen. The music of despondent white people waxing their bodies and choking on tears in suburban bedrooms.
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| Gary Glitter, he reminds me of someone... |
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| ...aghast! |
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| Good god! |
Indeed, when you thought you were supporting the music industry by sauntering into HMV and buying the latest in "emotional hardcore" or stadium-friendly heavy metal, you were actually putting money in the hands of a covert child molesting syndicate disguised as sexy chart-rockers. They made fools of us all.
You cannot, for all that is fair, be blamed entirely for the actions of coked-up goblin kings. To say that you, the fan, are the problem, would be to assume that each and every one of you knowingly purchased a record with the intent to fund a giant pedophile fortress complete with sentinel towers and a moat full of kiddie-fiddling alligators. No, you cannot be blamed entirely. You're just a large part of the problem, because you know, you listened to this crap.
Of course, it wasn't enough for these people to take money from fans and use it to fund their depraved antics, no, no, they wanted much more than that. I don't know about you, but I've never seen an indie kid or an emo go out of their way to buy vinyl. I wonder why that is? Because if they did buy the vinyl, there's a chance they'd be able to hear the backmasked subliminal messages behind their favourite toe-tapping rock singles. If you spin "Rooftops" backwards on a vinyl, you can make out the unmistakable Welsh drawl of Ian Watkins urging his fans to touch the neighbor children.
The song is also loaded with pedophile slang;
Rooftops
Will we make a mark this time
Will we always say 'We tried'
Underlying pedophile message
We will touch kids,
We will always say 'we touched your kid'.
Rooftops
Standing on the rooftops
Everybody scream your heart out
This is all we got now
Everybody scream your heart out
Underlying pedophile message
Standing on the rooftops,
Everybody abduct the children,
This is all we got now,
Better go abduct some children.
Sickening.
So where did it all begin? We can trace popular rock's rich history of fucking kids all the way back to Jerry Lee Lewis and his 13 year old cousinwife. There's no doubt in my mind that the trend starts (and may very well end) with Jerry Lee Lewis. I had to go outside a while ago to clear my head and think of some Jerry Lee Lewis song titles to use as clever euphemisms, but after a half hour riverside walk, I decided how very lame the idea was. So just look up some videos on Youtube, I'm sure you'll come across one.
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| That's fucked, Jerry, and you know it. |
So, the seeds were sewn, seeds that would eventually blast from the ground and rise and bulk-up into giant great oak trees of malevolent sexual intent. You bastard, Jerry. You doomed us all.
I hear you asking, 'how do I know if pop rock has turned ME into a pedophile?', well, there's only one sure fire way to find out, friend. First, if you have a portable computer device, leave this article open and do exactly as I say in the order I say it. Go to your local playground. It is best that you travel by vehicle, as you may need to make a hasty escape and you can't always trust your feet when you're begin bathed in red and blue lights. Okay, are you there yet? Good. Now, are there children in the playground? Look for the children. Ah, you've found one, excellent. Now, I want you to stare at the kid. Keep staring at it.
Do you;
A) Want to have sex with the child.
B) Don't want to have sex with the child.
C) Want to have sex with the child.
If you answered B), thank the heavens, friend, all those years of going to all ages, magazine sponsored rock gigs haven't taken their toll on your mind. You're okay. Go home.
If you answered A) or C), I'm afraid you're beyond hope. You've crossed into the darkness, there's no coming back from this vile place. Your only chance at redemption can be found at the end of a barrel or perhaps a surgeon's table. All those sock gloves, Vampirefreaks, faux art house music videos, and all those days of being "random" with your friends...they all played a part in turning you into a child molesting machine. I'm so, so sorry.
But don't blame yourself, you've been poisoned. Poisoned by pop rock in all of its ghastly shapes and sizes. If it makes you feel any better, just know that life itself is small and insignificant. Remember that mankind is just a fleeting, quivering fart from the celestial anus, and that you may one day be reborn as fly, a thought or the laughter of a newborn.
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